Chance
by Chase Binder
Summary: This is my take on the very famous death of Superman. Smallville style. I changed my old story a bit.
1. chance and the funeral of Clark Kent

Chance By Chase Binder 

Disclaimer: Smallville and Superman are not mine. My choice to alliterate their eventful lives is because Joe, Jerry, Alfred and Miles created something that inspired me.

_Note: Hey um, I know I wrote this before and this has been up for a while now. It's just that I had an idea on how to go further with my story so I tweaked it a little bit. This is my take on the famous death of Superman, with Smallville in context. I broke a few rules of the comic storyline. Oh well, that the reason for fanfiction anyways._

**Chapter 1**

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_"four strings struck, _

_some doves flew. _

_they all wore soot, _

_and one soul left." _

_-anonymous _

Perhaps chance decided to blow upon its ironic wind on the day Clark Kent died. Who knows why it happened; even for a man who was earmarked for destiny, sometimes its just too soon to tell that good people always live forever. 

It was a Wednesday, an ordinary Wednesday. The ones who were unaware of who Clark Kent was are perhaps nonchalantly waking up to a Smallville morning, looking forward to a newer day.

A small group, on the other hand, can neither do both. 

Throughout entire occasion, everyone stood still. Only chests that heaved showed any indication of movement. Lilies bathed the space, each one starkly white, beautifully contrasted to the bleak garbs every person wore. 

Chloe, clad in pale monochrome, was the one who told Mrs. Kent that he seemed at peace when he died. Mrs. Kent's immediate gesture was just a mute hug. Still it was enough for her. She didn't complain. 

Lana, on the other hand, felt guilty. For a man whom she figured had the most lonely eyes in someone so young, she knew he deserved more. Especially if she felt the same way about him. But all is gone now and every single one of his feelings, in time, will turn to dirt. Sadly, the same won't apply to her. 

The silence was overwhelming enough for Pete; but he couldn't do that. He needed to be there for Chloe in a moment like this. He knew Clark would've done the same thing. So instead he listened - he listened to the unspeaking grief people carried with them. He listened to Chloe's sad weeping as she rested her head on his tranquil shoulders. And finally, he listened to creaking sound of wood as the polished coffin descended, taking Clark down six feet deep. 

The sun was ripe of summer, a pre-eminent prospect to earn moments that were more high in spirits. The Kent's stood underneath that summer without the better half of what it offered. Both of their heads tipped to each other while Mr. Kent held Martha sturdy with his arm. They each remained deaf to what was proceeding around them. There were other thoughts to be had besides what the minister said. 

It took a while but this time everybody was patient. Some though were much eager for it to finally come about. Lex was ready too. He walked scared and stood in front of everyone. He didn't have any pages in front of him, just his words to pass on. All ears widened to hear him speak. It's about Clark, so maybe there will be something really meaningful in what comes out of him – especially after the fact that he was the last person who stood by him until Clark ran short of breath. 

The winds blew and rustled. With that Lex began his eulogy. 

Like I mentioned, all ears widened. 


	2. chance and the acquaintance of Pete and ...

**Chance**

**by Chase Binder**

Disclaimer: Smallville and Superman are not mine. My choice to alliterate their eventful lives is because Joe, Jerry, Alfred and Miles created something that inspired me.

_Note: Hey um, I know I wrote this before and this has been up for a while now. It's just that I had an idea on how to go further with my story so I tweaked it a little bit. This is my take on the famous death of Superman, with Smallville in context. I broke a few rules of the comic storyline. Oh well, that the reason for fanfiction anyways. Pete and Lana are together here already._

**Chapter 2 **

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_I wish I had friend like Lex Luthor. An obscure companion whose willingness to put aside his own endeavors for the better of others filches the worthy part of my judgment. He told me once that a friend of Clark is a friend of his. If for nothing, I guess I could start off there. Acquaintance first. Then friend._

_Lex was the last one to be with Clark. He deserves at least some kind of gratitude for being there for him._

_-pete_

***

Pete swung open the Talon's door and the amber sky outside peeked in to the shop's near-empty inhabitants. He knew it was expected to be closed today, still he couldn't help but try. 

Inside he found Lana, alone, sitting calm while she held a warm glass of milk, staring blankly at a disused piano. She didn't even seem to be breathing – it became apparent to Pete that Lana was too preoccupied in her thoughts to be doing anything else. He wondered what raced in her head at that moment. 

"Lana."

… 

… 

_would you tell me... _

"Lana!" Pete uttered again. 

...

_how could it be... _

"Hey Lana, are you there?" 

_any better than this. _

"Huh?" Lana finally replied. "Oh, Pete it's you." 

"Yes it's me. What were you doing?" Pete grilled. 

"Just playing a song in my head." 

"I'm sorry," he added, feeling that any gesture from him isn't what Lana would be expecting right now. "Am I disturbing you in some way?" 

"Oh no, sweetie" she reasoned. "Don't worry, you're very welcome here. do you want something?" 

"Milk with caffeine would be good. And throw in coffee there, somewhere." Pete said jokingly. It was best if he was funny, there would be no awkward strings attached and no sad expositions to be addressed. Even though, they had been together for a great span of time, he knew Lana needed her time, and he knew also knew he needed his. 

For a few minutes, Pete sat alone inside the Talon. Oddly likewise, he too found himself staring into space. Perhaps there was something about the emptiness of a place so huge that somehow moved him to other things. 

_Acquaintance first. Then friend. _

"So, the funny vibe caught you too huh?" Lana said, appearing out-of-nowhere and giving Pete his coffee. 

"Having remembered that Clark was a large part of this place feels, it feels homish I guess," he replied, "I couldn't get to stay inside my house – and then I thought about the Talon as a nice refuge." 

"I don't know about that," she debated, "before you came in, I felt my lungs collapsing. It's a good thing you showed up though, you know.. just someone to talk to." 

"At least some people are willing to talk about it." 

"Why?" Lana questioned. 

"Chloe." Pete answered, but only to that extent. At first he wanted to tell her about how Chloe was engulfed in a quest to unbury the reason of Clark's committal. She's actually out on the streets of Smallville right now, heaving out every resource she has, just so she can have that one night where the sheets are warm and the pillows are snugly and finally, Chloe can boast a sleep where nothing crossed her head. But then he felt Chloe had her reasons, and her motives have more a lot more substance than just a resentful petty grudge. 

Unfortunately, Pete's response had caused Lana to unavoidably further ask: "What about Chloe?" 

"Oh you know," he remarked, trying hard to make sure Chloe isn't put in a bad colour because of this. 

"Even when Clark.. um.. you know," prolonging with caution, "Chloe is still being Chloe." 

"I can understand her," Lana responded while she quaffed another shot of her drink, "That's how she deals any sense of grief inside and I guess at this moment all we can respond to her is 'nice idea'. It would be best I guess" 

"Well I wish it were that simple." 

"Why?" she enquired. 

A heavy breath reached Pete, lips pursed briefly. He rested his hands on the table while he used the other to pick up his coffee, shaking it, and then sipping its contents. Obviously he was delaying until finally, 

"Chloe thinks Clark didn't exactly die." 

"Oh..." reacted Lana in a very awkward tenor. 

"She thinks Lex has something to do with it. She's now on her way to his place with a very hefty bone to pick." Heaving another sigh, "Please come with me to the Luthor's and help me control this bad idea." 

A silent beat tagged Pete's words. Lana flinched her eyes and remained pensive. Their drinks were untouched for while, and as it stood there, its warmth puffed clouds upwards. 


	3. chance and the reporter about a rich kid

Chance By Chase Binder 

Disclaimer: Smallville and Superman are not mine. My choice to alliterate their eventful lives is because Joe, Jerry, Alfred and Miles created something that inspired me.

_Note: Hey um, I know I wrote this before and this has been up for a while now. It's just that I had an idea on how to go further with my story so I tweaked it a little bit. This is my take on the famous death of Superman, with Smallville in context. I broke a few rules of the comic storyline. Oh well, that the reason for fanfiction anyways._

Chapter 3

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Chloe stepped outside and vacated her father's truck. Looking at the manor, she felt worried that bringing up the topic of Clark Kent would agitate Lex in his period of grief. It has been only a few days since the wake and Chloe Sullivan has already began her mission of accusation.

The Luthor mansion was big. To her it was a trophy of Metropolis banquet feeders who need to tell farmers from Kansas that having a place like this meant they had shinier shoes than others. Still, it was kinda exciting. 

With her digital Kodak draped on her neck, the intrepid sunshine rang the doorbell and waited for a snappy dressed butler to attend her needs. 

Lex veered the door open. 

"Chloe?" he asked in a contorted facial grimace. 

"Yes. But enough about me." she replied. "Of all people," continuing, "why would Lex Luthor be the one who greeted his guests at the first moment?" 

"The maids took a day off." 

She replied with an "Oh" like it was valid reason. Although in her head this reporter couldn't help but think that the rich kid was expecting someone else right until when she came. Lex welcomed her inside. And, in tradition of his sweeping gentleness, he asked Chloe if she wanted anything, offering her to accompany him with lunch. There was no resisting there, she thought, if she said yes, then it would somehow break the ice there. 

He guided her inside those expensive walls where she stared at the paintings that hanged on them. Hmm, she told herself, no Titanic self-portraits drooping around. 

"Kitchen's open Sullivan. Feel like pesto?" 

"Problem solved Lex." she answered smiling, exchanging glances. 

They sat on the dinning table. On one end was Chloe while Lex occupied the other. It's distance seemed the entire occasion was something formal, therefore making the only conversation that's likely surface out of this is uncomplicated small talk. Chloe didn't want small talk, she need Lex in his most vulnerable moment if she was to get something out of him. 

For a moment it was silent. Lex didn't like silence. 

"So.. how many years has it been Chloe, since we last met?" 

"Graduation.. I think?" she replied. 

"That was about what? Ten years ago?" 

"Twelve." 

"It's been a while then." 

"Man I remember that graduation," Lex chuckled, "Clark had to sit next to Lana. You know after Kent comes Lang. And heh, all the time Clark kept on – " 

"How did Clark die Lex?" Chloe eyes changed from flirt to reporter mode in an instant. 

Beat. 

"Wow, I'm amazed. Our reporter didn't even have to wait for Pesto to bring that up." Lex sneered, proving much that this was one topic he didn't exactly need to hear. 

"C'mon Lex what happened there." she retorted seriously. 

Tilting his upper body toward Chloe he said, "Someone close to me died alright. You want to give me pity I can take that but I don't need someone to tell me that I had something to do with it." 

"You were the last one with him. I did the math. You're our one and only genius who's out to get Superman and Clark has always been a grey area of clouds. I suspect that you suspect Clark was Superman and that you sent that robot get him." Chloe's eyebrows are now raised. 

"Superman died a week before Clark. They might be the same person or not. All I know is the person whom I saw die was my friend – not Superman." 

The butler arrived soon with Pesto. It smelled to perfection. Maybe a little lunch would swell down any unpleasantness that was inevitably brought out a moment ago. Lex, the cultured man that he is, placed his napkin and grabbed the utensils. Chloe soon followed and even requested for some Bordeaux. 

They both waited until everything calmed down so they could talk again. Until that happened Chloe and Lex sat, eating lunch in very trivial silence. 


	4. chance and the veranda with lilacs

Chance   
By Chase Binder 

Disclaimer: Smallville and Superman are not mine. My choice to alliterate their eventful lives is because Joe, Jerry, Alfred and Miles created something that inspired me. 

Note: Hey um, I know I wrote this before and this has been up for a while now. It's just that I had an idea on how to go further with my story so I tweaked it a little bit. This is my take on the famous death of Superman, with Smallville in context. I broke a few rules of the comic storyline. Oh well, that's the reason for fanfiction anyways. 

Chapter 4 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

After lunch, Chloe found herself behind the Luthor Mansion, at its backyard gardens where a population of lilacs bloomed everywhere, making the veranda seem like a place that drew away any of her prior frustrations. Placing both her palms on the green bench on which she sat on, her head found itself staring at the sky, watching gentle spinning clouds hover above. Companioned by a quiet breeze, everything outside seemed beautiful to say the least, and, as Chloe became more enamored at everything around her since she arrived, she couldn't help but feel that the house of Lex Luthor showed nothing that permeates his quality for being cold and callous. 

It would be true to say that after the incident at the dining table, things have suddenly turned awkward for the two adults. However for Chloe, she still mustered enough bravery upon her part to extend her welcome inside and stay for a little while more. After taking a brief lull in admiring the pleasantries of the Luthor gardens, she sprung open the black Gateway notebook that she had brought to the occasion. On its screen was a furious glare of a headline that was ambient on everybody's minds at the moment. It read: SUPERMAN – DEAD, Metropolis Marvel killed in action, by Lois Lane. 

Chloe was keenly aware what position Lois Lane had on the life of Clark Kent. Every time she thought about it, her heart would cringe in utter despair. For the second time around, another woman has given rapture to the heart of Clark Kent and no matter how he always made it seem that Chloe Sullivan had a rank on his affections, in the end, it was some other girl, someone else besides her, that took up the most part of it.   
  
"It takes a while before anyone can stop staring at the headline." Lex uttered out of nowhere, coming from behind Chloe and sitting on an adjacent bench while he clenched both his fists and folded it as one. 

"Listen Chloe, I think we got off on the wrong foot here." 

A silence played out before she allowed herself to stop gazing at the notebook and pay attention to Lex's remark. This time her eyes were brimmed with gentle tears as she looked at Lex and replied, "What do you think of the idea of me writing an article about Superman?" 

"Seems like something you would pull off terrifically," Lex remarked, "But then the attempt would be exactly the same of thousands of other writers out there." 

"What are you getting at?" she asked gently. 

"Well, off the top of my head, write about Clark. It would be more meaningful for you." 

For a while thoughts ran across her head and then in a sudden gesture, Chloe got up from her seat and walked towards the door and left everything on the veranda. Lex's eyes became awry as he wondered about the peculiarity of the situation. At first, he thought of ways to compose some sort of apology for throwing off the grieving reporter with his comment. But then, as sudden as she left, the eager reporter was back again outside the gardens and rushed to sit down at the green bench, only now her hands clutched a spanking silver tape recorder. 

"Alright," she then uttered, placing her small toy on the section of the table near to Lex, "If I'm to write about Clark, tell me what exactly you two talked about before he died."   



End file.
